


Its Deadly Terrors Clasp

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [18]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A name is rarely just that alone.  And while changes come and go with the time, whims of mercy to those who dream them, intentions behind those whims mean everything when words themselves mean so little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Its Deadly Terrors Clasp

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lestire_Iillas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestire_Iillas/gifts).



> This was written as a request for _Lestire_Iillas_ , who asked to see something about Mairon’s name transitioning from “Mairon” to “Sauron”. This is rather short, for such a detailed prompt as you gave me, and I apologize if I did not hit everything you wanted! But this little piece is what came about as I was putting something together for you, and nothing else seemed to fit once I got to the end. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Mairon clutched the parchment loosely in his hands as they hung limp over his lap, the curled travel-worn paper soft against his palms as his fingers held it open. His gaze was unfocused on the missive, so recently tucked in amongst the many reports and updated maps sent in from troops abroad, and Thuringwethil’s scratching penmanship stared up at him, mocking with its scrawling words.

 _It may amuse you to know - because it certainly amused me - this bit of irrelevant information I have stumbled across out here in the farthest reaches of the world._

Only he was not amused, not even a little. And, quite honestly, he was not at all sure why. This was so very unimportant. Truly, it was. Some bit of useless information for her to relay back to him, for her to use against him with her shrill laughter ringing in his ears even so far away.

_Perhaps it will bring your vanity down several notches where it belongs._

He frowned as this statement jumped off the page, and he read it again, skimming over the rest of the letter once more as he did. Something in his stomach twisted and felt ill. 

Footsteps echoed nearby for a moment before the door to the Great Hall was fully pushed open with unnecessary force. He felt the restless energy growing before Melkor spoke, his mood preceding his entrance, and Mairon dragged his gaze up from the paper to watch the Vala come striding inside. Melkor crinkled his nose as though catching a foul smell, making a face at him where he sat in one of the spindly chairs at the table typically used for war meetings. Sunlight, so rare through the dense clouds always surrounding their fortress, streamed through the high-arched leaded glass windows, gleaming off Melkor’s dark hair in a way Mairon had only seen a handful of times. It was beautiful. 

“I’ve been looking all over this bloody place for you. What are you doing in here?” Melkor asked shortly, not necessarily interested in an answer as he quickly continued on impatiently to his next stream of words. “I’m horribly bored, Mairon, I’d like for you to come play a game with me. We should go up to the highest tower over the training fields and - ”

He broke off his grumblings abruptly, and Mairon realized he had let his eyes fall back to the parchment again, distracted even as Melkor spoke. He quickly looked up, attempting to rearrange his expression away from frustration and back to neutrality to derail the Vala from his newfound trail.

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

Apparently this had not worked, and he pursed his lips for a moment. “Nothing, my lord,” he replied as blithely as he could, still unsure of the situation himself and not at all convinced he could explain. “I am quite well. What was this - this terrible _game_ you wished to play? Do you need assistance acting out some prank on the orcs? Because you will have to go down that path on your own, you know I am no good at the types of pranks you enjoy.”

Usually such a comment would have brought around a sly joke or a bark of laughter, but Melkor simply stared at him, an eyebrow now raised with suspicion. Mairon took a breath, releasing it softly and lowering his eyes away from that knowing glance as he folded the parchment across the center. He should burn this, he really should. Stupid and unnecessary, merely Thuringwethil being quite cruel with her schemes, nothing more.

“It’s whatever is in this letter, isn’t it,” Melkor said with a lazy motion of his hand, stalking forward to briskly cover the space between them. “There is something in here causing you bother.”

“No, my lord, everything is -”

But Melkor reached out and swiftly plucked the short missive from his grasp before Mairon could tighten his hold on it. He opened the parchment, his eyes reading through the brief correspondence quickly, and Mairon felt a flush of irritated color come into his cheeks - not for his mail being read, he did not care about that one way or another - but rather for what was being revealed in doing so with this particular letter. 

He watched as Melkor finished, and then read through it a second time. He expected a larking chuckle to follow, or a horribly amused smile that would follow him the rest of the day, or perhaps through the next _month_. Instead, however, Melkor lowered the parchment to the table and spoke a single word, as though trying the feel of it across his tongue. 

“ _Sauron_.”

The flush across Mairon’s cheeks seared scarlet, and he tipped his head back to look up to the high, vaulted ceiling. The sun had passed back behind the clouds again, shifting everything into shadow, and the rafters high above were cast in deepening darkness. A new name, forever thrusting aside the only one he had ever been known by. No one would remember him as he was before, with this new portrayal already being whispered throughout Middle Earth by the elves, so different and unlike anything he had ever imagined he would find given him. Truly, he should not care. He _shouldn’t_. 

His stomach clenched again with unplaced emotion.

“Do you not approve?”

Melkor’s voice was quiet, almost gentle, and Mairon blinked slowly, considering his question and the implication behind it. He lowered his head and kept his eyes down on his hands, now clasped in his lap.

“I...do not know, my lord,” he murmured. “I am not sure just how I _should_ feel about this. Perhaps names come and go in this world, especially for immortal beings such as ourselves. It is - it is simply unexpected.”

“Sauron,” Melkor said again, frowning this time. “Abhorred. It seems, truly, to be a cruel play on your original name, doesn’t it? Admirable, abhorred.” He sighed heavily and sank into the chair closest to where Mairon still sat, beside him and near enough their knees knocked together as he settled there. “I am not sure I appreciate such a change as this, myself. Elves and their _blasphemous_ language.”

Mairon looked up at him. What he said on the surface was true, certainly - but there was something to his words, an undercurrent of comfort there, heard though meant to be left unsaid, and it was obvious he understood how Mairon felt even through his fluster. Angry, confused. _Saddened_ , as though something wholly untouchable yet so very precious had been lost. Melkor met his gaze, holding it easily with his. 

He took the parchment again, ripping it in half, and then into quarters. Mairon did not stop him.

“Let Thuringwethil have her little joke,” he said, tossing the scraps onto the table. “We will even embrace this change of title and command the others call you this, ‘Sauron’, for it is true - the new holds more weight and drives more fear than your original name. You have certainly been living up to it lately, at any rate, at least in the eyes of others. _Sauron_. But to me - ” 

He smiled, a small grin just tugging at his lips, and reached out to tuck several strands of hair loosened from their braided bun back behind the Maia’s pointed ear. His fingers brushed lightly along his smooth jaw, and Mairon turned his face into the touch just before Melkor pulled away.

“To me, you shall always be the _Admirable_.”


End file.
